


Jackrabbit Easter 2015

by pixie_rings



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Anal Sex, Healing, Home, Hunting, Hurt, Jackrabbit Week, M/M, Mild Horror, Oral Sex, Rimming, Tattoos, happiness, high
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-21 10:05:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3688140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixie_rings/pseuds/pixie_rings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My fics for Jackrabbit Easter 2015.</p><p>April 5th: Home<br/>April 6th: Hunting<br/>April 7th: Healing<br/>April 8th: High<br/>April 9th: Hurt<br/>April 10th: Happiness<br/>April 11th: Free Day</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. April 5th - Home

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, have I had a long spell of writer's block. Well, here I am now!

In all his long, solitary years of existence, Jack Frost has never had a home.

Well... That's not _entirely_ true. He has Burgess Lake... sort of. But is it still ok to consider it that? The trees, once familiar, have made him restless with their views of the water. And the water itself, well... it's different, now.

It's different now he knows that's where he died.

He spends more and more time away from the place, wandering, and it's hard to find a place to settle, considering the rest of the world is so unfamiliar. It is something that's casually torn from him at the next Guardians' meeting, because Jack never likes to burden others with his own problems and getting what troubles him from him is like pulling teeth.

All the other Guardians have homes. There is Santoff Claussen for North, and Punjam Hy Loo for Toothiana. Bunnymund has the verdant luxuriance that is the Warren, and even Sandy has his dreamsand ship. Jack didn't want to make them worry for him – he's 319 years old, he can deal with this – but they don't. Toothiana places a hand on his shoulder, Sandy pats his hand and they don't make him feel weird or strange for not having a permanent place to rest his head.

“How about,” North begins, “you try out each of ours? Perhaps you would like living with one of us, yes?”

Bunnymund opens his mouth to protest, one finger raised, but then he snaps his mouth shut and doesn't look at Jack. Jack can't begin to fathom what that could mean.

“That's a great idea!” Toothiana exclaims, clapping her hands gleefully. “Jack, you can stay with me first!”

Jack doesn't know how to politely decline, so he accepts with a smile that, to him, feels a little forced. Toothiana doesn't notice, and neither does anyone else. Except maybe Bunnymund.

Jack has a feeling Bunnymund can read him better than he gives him credit for.

.

“Here we are!”

Toothiana spreads out her arms, presenting the entirety of her living quarters. Currently they're standing in a beautiful lounge. There's a low table in the centre of the floor, made of white wood, and surrounded by piles of silk cushions. The walls have colourful, beautifully woven tapestries, and aside from the beaded curtain they've just come through, the other doorways are hung with sheer drapery in warm, spicy colours. Everything that can be is intricately carved, and one wall is entirely made of latticed wood, and offers a beautiful view of the mountains beyond the Punjam Hy Loo valley. An incense stick is burning, but it doesn't cover the scent of jasmine and turmeric that wafts gently by them.

Toothiana is giving him an expectant look. Jack smiles.

“It's beautiful, Tooth,” he says, and he means it. It is. He knows words like 'exotic' and 'ethnic' are a little bit racist, but the thing it... to him, it is. This is exotic. It's different from what he knows, and he likes it, even though it's not his scene.

“Thank you!” Toothiana gushes, her cheeks turning slightly pink. “Right this way! You'll be sleeping here!”

He follows her to another room, and as they enter, he gapes. “Wow.”

This one is entirely different from the lounge. It's more enclosed, and entirely tiled in cold colours, from the floor to the vaulted ceiling. The bed is round and also strewn with cushions, surrounded by blue, translucent curtains. The entirety of the western wall is latticed windows, allowing light to stream through them and bathe the floor in intricate patterns. It's beautiful.

“This was my father's room,” Toothiana says. She flits over to the corner, where there is a stand on a wooden dresser. The stands holds a beautifully carved hunting bow, resting above an empty leather quiver with the outline of a peacock in turquoise. Toothiana caresses the wood reverently, and Jack swallows, decidedly humbled.

“Tooth, I can't...”

She turns and silences him with one of her Queenly Looks. “Don't be silly,” she says, a touch of authority in her tone. “ No one's slept here for centuries. My father wouldn't begrudge another young warrior a place to rest. Make yourself comfortable!”

She pats him on the shoulder, and the Queen is gone, replaced by good old Toothiana once more. She leaves Jack alone to his thoughts, and the first of these is that he feels woefully inadequate to even be in this room. He doesn't know much about Toothiana's parents apart from vague tales told at meetings, like how her mother was a Sister of Flight and her father an ex-slave, but standing here, now... he feels like he's defiling the place.

“Sorry, Mr Tooth,” he mumbles as he gives himself a small tour of the room. He doesn't understand the writing on the volumes on the bookcase – is it Sanskrit? - and they look old and fragile, so he doesn't touch them. He doesn't touch the plants either, because other than the special ones Bunnymund is trying to develop that are resistant to his frost, he and vegetation don't get along unless he consciously remembers to not activate his powers. That leaves the bed and a couple of other tables, one holding a stand with a dagger, the other an ornate vase. He leaves the dresser drawers alone.

He props his staff against the wall, dumps the small pack that contains a book and the mp3 player he scrounged from Monty's elder sister – hey, she wasn't using it anymore, and it's not like she could see him take it – and flops down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

It's supposed to be cooler, in a room like this, but Jack just finds it stuffy. He hopes it'll be better tonight. It's only one night, after all.

.

He can't sleep and it's not because dinner's spices are still searing his mouth enough that he has to lie with his mouth open. No, it's also hot and stuffy. Jack usually sleeps with all his clothes on, but right now his hoodie's been torn off and tossed on the floor, and he's spread across the bed, staring, once again, at the ceiling, the heat clinging to his skin and making him decidedly uncomfortable. It's humid, and even though he's creating snow creatures that dance on a cool breeze around the room, then explode with a puff into pleasant snowflakes right above the bed, it's making no difference. In fact, it's just debilitating. Warmth is one thing, heat and humidity are quite another.

He reaches a hand up, and the current critter comes over to nuzzle at his hand. It's then that he realises, as its coolness poofs into snow against his palm, that every creature he's been making is a bunny. Every single one.

He rolls over, still hot, but he needs the comfort of a fetal position right now. What does this mean? Does it mean anything, or is he just being stupid?

The heat is making his thoughts hang thick in his head like the air in the room. He can't stand it, but he can't do this to Toothiana's hospitality, even when the impulsive side of him demands he leave, _now_ , and find somewhere with snow to roll in.

He gets up, almost as if he can't control himself, grabs his hoodie and opens a window. A chirp stops him.

“Sorry, BT,” he says with a rueful sigh. She lands on his palm, questioning him with her twittering. “It's way too hot. Plus, I need to... have a think.”

Baby Tooth just seems bewildered by that, and he offers an apologetic smile. “Tell Tooth I'm grateful.”

She leaves his hand, frowning slightly, and watches him climb onto the sill. He stops again, turns, biting his lip.

“Hey, BT... what do you think of Bunny?”

That just seems to confuse her even more. She chirrups a question, and Jack shakes his head.

“Leave it, it's ok.” He smiles his goodbye and leaps out into the night.

He lets the Wind carry him where it wants. It dumps him, unceremoniously, on a pile of snow in the Himalayas. He burrows into in, enjoying the shivers it sends through him, the cold of it on his bare skin. It's such a relief, he doesn't feel like he's melting anymore.

On the other hand, it does nothing for his thoughts. He kicks his way out of the drift and sits for a while, cross-legged, staring at the moon. Almost unconsciously, with a wave of his hand, he creates a snow bunny. But not just any bunny, no, it's the Kangaroo himself. He watches the frost creation dart and dash on the air in front of him, imitating Bunnymund's movements perfectly as Jack wills it to.

“What does it _mean_?” he mutters, holding his cupped palms out and allowing little frost Bunnymund to hop into them. Unlike in Punjam Hy Loo, he doesn't puff into snowflakes, but he stays whole. He scratches behind his ear, stands up, twitches his ears and looks at Jack with far too much intensity for a ephemeral frost creature held together with magic and thought.

It shocks Jack, and the thing implodes, throwing snowflakes in his face. He has to laugh, and he waves them away.

“Very funny,” he says, standing up and tugging his freezing hoodie on. Reaching out to the Wind, he catches the air to Burgess Lake.

.

“Thought I'd find you here.”

Jack rolls over and opens a bleary eye. He hasn't slept as much as he'd like to, and he really could do with not seeing Bunnymund right now, due to emotional turmoil he has yet to find a reason for. However, Bunnymund doesn't know this, and Jack would like to keep it that way. He yawns and stretches, still lying on the impromptu pile of leaves he constructed the night before, and grins up.

“Hey there, Cottontail,” he says, voice raspy. “Been looking for me?”

Bunnymund snorts and takes up residence on a nearby boulder, arms folded as he waits for Jack to get up and shake off the leaves he's collected. “Tooth's in a right state, y'know.”

That makes Jack freeze mid-shake. He slowly, and guiltily, shifts his body into a more reasonable pose and winces.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. Bunnymund waves a hand.

“Could've told you myself that Tooth's place wasn't going to be your bowl of rice,” he said. “Would've saved you a bit of trouble. Nah, she turned up at the Pole this morning in a panic, made North send out the Aurora. You didn't see it?”

Jack rubs the back of his neck. “Um...”

“Never mind. Anyway, they were talking about search parties and stuff, but I knew exactly where you'd be.” Bunnymund's eyebrows rise and he offers Jack a quick grin. Jack feels frost gently creep up his cheeks, and he momentarily panics. He scrubs at his cheeks, wondering why the hell they're doing that, he only does that when he's _embarrassed_...

“You ok there, mate?”

Jack looks opens his eyes. Bunnymund's so close, he looks so concerned, and it just makes everything _worse_.

“I, uh, um, sure. Sure, I'm ok.” He hitches on a grin as best he can. Bunnymund still looks a little suspicious, but he backs off anyway.

“Right. Should probably get you to the Pole, tell everyone you aren't dead.” He taps the ground with his foot, opening a tunnel. “Come on, ya dag.”

Jack doesn't have a moment to catch his breath and figure out why he had that reaction to Bunnymund, of all people. He follows darts down the hole and Bunnymund follows.

It's a pretty quick sprint to the Pole. Normally he'd make a race of it, even though, by now, he knows better than to race a rabbit, but his mind's too far away. When they get there, he doesn't even noticed Toothiana until she's got her arms around him, babbling something that's too loud, too close to his ear. He winces and gently pushes her away.

“Hey,” he says.

“Why did you disappear like that?!” she demands, punching him in the arm. It really hurts, but, then again, she punched a tooth out of Pitch. Her punches hurt like a bitch. “You had me worried sick!”

“Sorry,” he mumbles. He lowers his gaze, unsure. He doesn't even want to mention he told Baby Tooth he was leaving, that might get her into trouble.

Toothiana harrumphs, and Jack risks a glance upwards. Her arms are folded across her feathery breast and she looks unamused. “Don't do that again,” she says, and he nods vehemently. Behind them, he hears a familiar chuckle and there's the flush again, across his cheeks, he can't stop it. Damn. “If you didn't want to stay, you could have just told me,” she adds in a less angry murmur. “I wouldn't be offended, Jack.”

Ok, that just makes Jack feel even worse. He sighs, his grip on his staff tightens. “I didn't want you to...” He can't finish the sentence. He doesn't know what to say, after all. Toothiana tuts and shakes her head.

“Now is all past us,” North announces, striding forward and slinging a huge arm around Jack's shoulders, tugging him close. “This time, you will stay at Pole!”

Jack groans internally. Of course, they're not going to give this up, and he's just too nervous to say no.

.

Santoff Claussen has a completely different atmosphere to Punjam Hy Loo. It bright, busy, loud and maddening. Normally, Jack would be all for that, but right now... whatever he's trying to figure out is not happy with these circumstances, and wants some peace and quiet to chase its own tail without interruptions. And the temperature... well. It's hotter than it is over Easter, probably because it's Christmas in two months time and there's a shit ton of stuff to get done. That would explain why Jack is finding it stifling.

However, unlike at Punjam Hy Loo, he's not being left to his own devices, probably because North is worried he'll bolt again.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, North,” he mutters to himself from his perch in the rafters. The elves, it seems, have been appointed as his babysitters, and they're enjoying themselves zooming around in various flying contraptions and generally being a nuisance. He'll say this for them, though: they make good target practice.

Jack hits another one, which sends the little pilot spinning out of control with a whir of propellers and a mad jangle. He knows they'll be perfectly fine, he wouldn't do it otherwise, and he manages to snigger to himself as he prepares another snowball, this time for the dragonfly machine.

Half an hour and a full on snowball fight that's involved all the yetis on the second floor and every single elf in the North Pole later, Jack's hanging over a railing, laughing his head off, while North surveys the snow-laden wreckage, a look of utmost horror on his face.

He turns to Jack and stomps over, grabbing and hoisting him up by his hood. Jack still has tears streaming down his face, and not even North's anger can stop them.

“You are lucky there is nothing valuable on this floor!” North growls. Jack hiccups.

“S-s-sorry, North,” he wheezes. His guts hurts. He thinks he's pulled a muscle. North sets him back on his feet and sighs.

“Look at this mess,” he grumbles, but there's a twitch going on at his moustache, and Jack thinks he finds it just as hilarious.

“Wait a sec,” Jack says. He hops off the railing, into the air, and begins zooming around the Globe, faster and faster. He wills the snow after him, until its following him like a comet's trail. He heads higher, his spinning getting tighter around the central pillar, until, with all the strength he can muster, he skids to a halt in mid-air, points his staff to the bottommost level of the building, and lets the snow fall. It's icy down there anyway, shouldn't do any harm.

At the railing, North whistles. Jack grins, slightly breathless, and laughs and how North's hair is absolutely everywhere from the rushing wind. The yetis applaud politely, and Jack lands on the railing, bowing with a flourish.

“Very good, _moy mal'chik_ ,” he says with an approving clap to Jack's shoulder. “You are getting stronger.”

Jack grins, and it occurs to him that he's not doing what amounts to his version of blushing. That's weird. He doesn't dwell on it though, because it's nice to get praise from North. He remembers now that his father died when his sister was very young, and so, well... Praise from North feels paternal. He likes it.

It's a completely different sensation from praise from Bunnymund.

.

Dinner is a busy affair, full of laughter and singing and boisterousness and it's just... jolly. Jack likes it, he thinks, as he flops on the bed he's been given for the night, completely stuffed with very rich Russian food, but he doesn't think he could do it every night. And yes, he's pretty sure it happens every night. This is North's place, every day is a party – a work party, but a party nonetheless. It's not Jack's scene. He's spent so much time being a loner that he isn't sure he could be entirely social. He pats his full stomach and allows his mind, so distracted over the last few hours, to drowsily wander back to earlier thoughts.

So why does he only blush around Bunnymund? Why are rabbits suddenly the most amazing creatures on Earth? Why does Bunnymund's voice sound so divine, why is his laughter perfection? Why does that fur seem so soft and inviting to touch, and those eyes so... so... get-lost-innable? He rolls over onto his side with a soft huff and is about to drift off to sleep when it hits him.

His eyes fly open, his whole body jerks with the realisation.

He's _crushing_. _Hard_. On the _Easter Bunny_.

Jack lies very, very still for what seems like an eternity, clutching at the cover without realising it. This can't be right... can it? But the more he looks at it, the more it makes sense. All the blushing and the sudden clumsiness around him and this has been happening for ages, hasn't it?

He rolls back onto his back and buries his face in his hands. This is the last thing he needs right now, seriously.

“Fuck fuckity fuck fuck _fuck_ ,” he mutters into his hands, muffled even to his own ears. Of all the stupid crushes to have... though, objectively, he can see why. Bunnymund's pretty damn awesome, when you get past the grumpy exterior, and pretty damn hot, once you come to terms with the whole giant bipedal lagomorph thing.

He slides his hands down his face and bites a knuckle. Bunnymund is brave and loyal and funny and wise, with power and grace, and a voice like melted chocolate and eyes like spring itself. He can't deal with this, it's ridiculous, it's stupid, it's...

It's impossible, that's what it is.

Grumpily – hey, maybe he's channelling old Peter Cottontail himself right now – he rolls back over and wraps his arms around himself. If he ignores it, it'll probably go away on it's own.

Right?

.

He wakes up groggy, and the crush is still there. In facts, it's worse now, because now he knows that this feeling whenever he sees Bunnymund is, he knows what it's all about and he's going to be a thousand times more clumsy, more embarrassed and more stupid in front of him.

His face'll probably freeze solid. Won't _that_ make him look like boyfriend material?

Not that he'll ever _be_ boyfriend material, he thinks gloomily. Bunnymund won't be interested in a scrawny, extremely annoying permanent teenager. Jack wouldn't, if the roles were reversed. He entertains himself, for a moment, by thinking about a teenage Bunnymund, all lanky limbs and blustery self-aggrandisement masking crippling insecurity, not quite grown into himself. It's actually a pretty cute mental image, with those bigger-than-now ears and long limbs. He chuckles to himself, his cheeks a winter's morning again.

His silly thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door. He bolts upright, feeling guilty about lounging in bed, and slightly annoyed that he hasn't yet reached a decision about Bunnymund, and clears his throat.

“Um, yes?” This isn't his house, he muses then. North shouldn't have to knock on the door.

It's not North, though.

“How'd you sleep, Ice Block?”

_Fuck._

“Um, well, I guess,” he mutters, keeping cross-legged on the bed and definitely not looking at Bunnymund, because he might die if he looks at Bunnymund right now.

“Everything apples?” Bunnymund asks. He sounds concerned again, and that's really not helping the new-found full body slam of nerves he's feeling right now.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure, everything's peachy keen.”

Bunnymund actually laughs at that, and wow, it sounds divine. “Ace! So... gonna stay here?”

Jack can't hide his frown quick enough, so he supposes he should come clean. “It's kinda...noisy?”

Bunnymund nods in sympathy. “I get you.” He sits on the armchair in the corner of the room, which Jack didn't even bother looking at the night before. “Always something going on here.”

“Yeah... I mean, I like it. It's fun. But... not all the time. Once in a while.”

Bunnymund steeples his fingers and nods.

“Did I miss breakfast?” Jack asks nervously. That would be rude.

“Nah, you're fine,” Bunnymund says. He gives Jack a long look, one that makes Jack have to look away. “You're not obliged to find a home with one of us, you know,” he says. “Sometimes you have to make your own.”

He sounds like he's talking from experience. Jack looks up, but Bunnymund's looking at somewhere very far away, somewhere Jack can't see, and he feels like he's intruding.

“I don't know... I just don't want to disappoint anyone,” Jack mumbles, picking at the laces around his calves, long-since frozen to his pants. Bunnymund shakes his head with a huff.

“You're not going to, we're your friends.”

Jack doesn't hear Bunnymund move, and he starts slightly when he feels a paw on his shoulder. It makes his breath hitch and his heart pound. It's gone too soon and for once, Jack feels cold. He feels cold where Bunnymund's paw has left, and he watches the Pooka go. He waits until Bunnymund leaves before pressing a hand to his own shoulder, closing his eyes and sighing.

.

The dreamsand ship is a gigantic golden whale floating in the sky, slowly following the sunset with its great flipper-propellers. It's very beautiful, a little surreal and somewhat intimidating. Sandy beckons him down onto the deck, and everything is quiet. And golden. That seems the theme.

They walk through corridors lined with sand sculptures of marine life, from manatees to mermaids, sharks to seahorses. Sandy shows him the bridge, with its helm and its great windows which offer a beautiful view of the stars chasing the setting sun in the west. There are columns that twist into breaching dolphins, entwined with seaweed that curls gently.

“Wow, Sandy,” he breathes, and the Sandman bows proudly.

He shows Jack to his room and creates for him a bed right in front of him. Sandy then indicates he needs to work right now, and will retire later, when they are over the Pacific Ocean. He bids Jack goodnight with a pat on the cheek and leaves, strolling serenely down the hallway.

Jack turns back to his room and sits on the bed. The sand is so soft, it's a beautiful sensation, and he sifts his fingers through it for a while. Eventually he beds down, hands behind his head, gazing at the ceiling. He's been doing a lot of that, lately.

His mind chases non-existent whorls and eddies in the ceiling, and he's trying not to think. He's been trying not to think all day, because _thinking_ just leads back to _Bunnymund_ , and he definitely doesn't want to think about _Bunnymund_ because thinking about _Bunnymund_ reminds him of this _stupid crush_ and... he doesn't want to be reminded of what he can't have.

He rolls over and closes his eyes. He wants to fall asleep, perchance to dream, but his mind wants to play its nasty tricks and imagine a thousand different ways the impossible could play itself out. Most of them involve Bunnymund just magically knowing his intentions and sweeping him off his feet, some play out like a goddamn anime confession, and yet another involves secret love letters. It's ridiculous and painful and Jack hates it so damn much.

He also realises that this place is horribly quiet, quiet like nowhere he's never been before. There's no soft rumble of engines many feet below him, like there would be on a real ship. At Punjam Hy Loo there was the continuous, gentle murmuring of fairy wings as they worked hard bringing teeth back to the palace, and the rustle of the jungle hundreds of feet underneath the great structure. At North's there was the sound of industry, talking and music, long into the night. Hell, even Burgess Lake has the muffled noises of traffic and the hissing of the wind in the trees to soothe himself to sleep. He's never heard such silence, it's maddening.

He rolls back onto his back and resigns himself to a long haul to sleep. He lets his mind wander again, and doesn't it just come spiralling back to Bunnymund?

“Thanks, brain,” he mutters. Then he blinks.

The walls are moving.

He sits upright in horror, hoping it's just his imagination, but it's not. He stares, ready to bolt and get the fuck out of there, when he realises... that's himself. And Bunnymund. It's a moving mid-relief of his mind's whimsies, like the ship is reading him. It makes sense... the whole thing is made of dreamsand, of course it knows what he wants, but he didn't think it would be able to do such things without Sandy there to control it.

He brings his knees up to his chin, wrapping his arms around them, and watches. He sees Bunnymund hold out a hand, and he sees himself take it, landing, looking up at Bunnymund. The figures kiss, and Jack blushes furiously, hating that this place is showing him what he wants. As long as it's in his head, well... he can pretend it's not what he wants.

God, he's such a sap, though, he thinks as the two figures dance, then chase each other through woods, and just lay somewhere stargazing, and... ugh. He's disgusted with himself.

Especially when the Jack on the wall rolls over, on top of Bunnymund, kisses him and... and...

Jack hair turns to spikes from the fierceness of his blushing. He grabs his staff with a choked yelp and aims a burst of ice at it, panicking. He can't want that! ...Can he?

He forgets what happens when he mixes his ice and any form of dreamsand.

“Oh shit!”

He quickly gets up and hurries over to the wall, cringing. Great, Jack. Fan-fucking-tastic. He's only gone and frozen the goddamn image of him and Bunnymund making out to Sandy's guest bedroom wall. He groans and presses his forehead to the icy sand. Fucking genius.

That's when there's a little tap on his shoulder, and he whirls around in horror, pressing himself flat against the wall. Sandy gives him an odd look from where he stands in the doorway, a question mark hovering above his head as his dreamsand returns to him. Jack swallows.

“Yeah... uh, I'm good, Sandy, don't worry about it!” he says, hitching on a nervous grin. Sandy doesn't look one hundred percent convinced, and Jack can't blame him. Sandy's easily the shrewdest of them all, his knowledge of the human psyche is frightening, at times... there's no way he doesn't know what's going on in Jack's mind.

But stepping away from the wall and admitting it is quite another matter.

Sandy sighs silently and floats over, holding out a hand. Jack gives him a confused look, but Sandy merely beckons, and Jack offers his hand in return. Sandy pats it comfortingly, gently leading Jack away to sit on the bed. Sandy makes an armchair for himself, his back to the weird manifestation of Jack's feelings, and with a few symbols conveys he understands. Everyone loves Bunnymund in their own way, he explains, he is brave and loyal and kind, and quite handsome in the Pooka way, what's not to love? Jack crosses his legs and sighs.

“I'm... not sure if it's love yet,” he mutters, placing a safety net beneath his feelings. Sandy pats his hand again and explains it doesn't matter.

With a wave of his hand the mid-relief disappears, leaving the ice to fall to the floor as a pile of snow. Jack blinks.

“You... didn't even look at it,” he murmurs. Sandy chuckles, creates Jack's own profile in dreamsand, with a few Z's and a thought bubble. Jack rubs the back of his neck.

“My dreams, huh?”

Sandy nods and leans back in his chair, folding his hands over his little round belly with great satisfaction. This means that Sandy's known for a while. How... embarrassing.

Not long after that, Sandy leaves him be. He gestures for Jack to sleep, then leaves with a small wave and a smile.

The quiet isn't so bad now, Jack thinks, as he closes his eyes. And he doesn't know why, but he feels slightly more... serene.

.

For the first time in two days, Jack's not woken by Bunnymund. It's... weird, but he kind of misses the feeling. With a small sigh, he stretches on his bed, and wonders, vaguely, what it would be like to be woken up by Bunnymund in a different way. The wall twitches.

“Don't you dare!” he growls, glaring at it. It goes still.

Jack manages to find his way back to the bridge, where he finds Sandy floating by the helm talking to... of course.

“Morning?” he half-greets, half-asks. Bunnymund chuckles.

“It's never morning on Sandy's ship,” he says, and Jack rolls his eyes.

“Semantics,” he retorts, giving Bunnymund a hipcheck as he goes to stand next to him. Bunnymund's eyebrows rise.

“Take it you slept well, then?”

“Sort of,” Jack replies. Sandy giggles behind his hand, more for the gesture than any sound he might emit. Jack glares. Bunnymund just looks puzzled.

“So... gonna settle with Sandy?”

Jack shakes his head. “Nope. Sorry, Sandy, it just... gets a little too quiet here.”

Sandy nods sagely, and quickly shoos both Jack and Bunnymund away. He helps Bunnymund to land, but that's it, before he's off and leaving them to... to whatever he thinks they should do. It's obvious he's got something in mind, because he gives Jack a wink before he leaves.

“What's Sandy up to?” Bunnymund asks warily. Jack shrugs.

“He has his own agenda. Who knows what it is?”

Bunnymund snorts and gives himself a quick shake, ridding himself of any stray grains of dreamsand that might have wriggled their way into his fur.

“Sooooo...” Jack swings around a tree, painting it with a layer of frost ferns. “What're you up to today?”

“Nothing, wh-”

Bunnymund doesn't get to finish his answer, because he gets a snowball to the face. He splutters, scrubbing the snow off, and glares. Jack sniggers.

“Catch me if you can, rabbit!” he taunts, and is off.

He darts through the trees, riding the wind, and he just knows he's going to get caught. Trying to outrun Bunnymund is physically impossible, but damn, the chase is worth it. He has no idea why he's doing this, it's just fun. He's been missing some good old fun for the last few days. He lets out a whoop, glancing behind him, and the lack of a grey blur chasing him, is enough to make him slow down, and eventually halt. Shit. Did his not-actually-a-plan go wrong? Is Bunnymund pissed off with him?

“Gotcha!”

He's pulled from the air with a yelp, falls on a soft bed of moss and above him is Bunnymund, strong, dominant, wearing a mischievous smirk and, well... maybe that's a little hot, yeah. Jack gulps.

“Hey, you got me,” he says weakly, and he really wants Bunnymund to kiss him. Do Pooka even kiss? Whatever, he doesn't care.

“What was all that about, then?”

“Um...” Jack reaches up and rubs the back of his neck. “It seemed fun?”

Bunnymund laughs, and Jack muses on how not even a year ago he'd be getting torn a new one right now. They've come far.

It's beyond his control when he reaches up and presses a hand to Bunnymund's cheek and – oh sweet Lord – Bunnymund's fur really is as soft as he'd imagined it. Bunnymund hums, presses into the touch.

“Took you long enough to figure it out,” he murmurs. Jack blinks.

“What?”

“I wasn't exactly being _subtle_...”

“Wait, _what_?”

Jack sits up. Bunnymund looks a little worried at that, his ears going back warily.

“You mean... you've been _flirting_ with me?”

Bunnymund suddenly seems much smaller than he really is, like he's nervous, and he's never known Bunnymund to be nervous. He doesn't want that.

“Hey, hey, listen. I'm just really stupid, I didn't notice...” He laughs sheepishly. “That doesn't mean I don't want it.”

He's never seen Bunnymund perk up so fast. He's not used to these mood swings when it comes to the Pooka. Once Bunnymund's found a mood, he keeps to it for at least a week. He looks so relieved.

“That's good news,” he states.

Wow, ok. Jack was not expecting his first kiss to go quite like this, but he isn't going to complain at all. He wraps his arms around Bunnymund's neck, and gently tugs him back down to the ground. Nothing else matters right now.

.

It's morning, if the warm, buttery light filtering through the shutters is anything to go by. The Warren's perennial Springtime makes the place just the right temperature, warm enough to be pleasant, and there are birds. Jack never knew the Warren had bird. He yawns as he stretches, arching his back with a small groan, settling back down on the sheets with a sigh. Next to him, Bunnymund makes an irritated noise and pulls him closer, nuzzling into the back of his neck, his weight a warm comfort at Jack's back. Jack relaxes into it, smiling drowsily as he runs his fingers through the short fur of Bunnymund's forearm. Yeah, he's definitely gotten used to this, after all these months, and that's not a bad thing. He likes it here, he likes being in Bunnymund's arms, in Bunnymund's bed, in Bunnymund's burrow in Bunnymund's Warren. It feels like...

He blinks, pausing in his caresses. He's just realised something.

“Hey... Bunny?”

Bunnymund hums against Jack's skin. He might be listening, he might not be.

“I think... If it's ok... I think I've found somewhere I can actually call _home_ , now,” he says.

“Thought it already was,” Bunnymund mutters sleepily. Jack's surprised for a moment, before he breaks into a grin, turns in Bunnymund's hold and snuggles deeper into the embrace.


	2. April 6th - Hunting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day late because of personal issues yesterday. Oops. Hope you don't mind anyway.

“Hey, sorry I'm late!”

Jack began to wave, but immediately faltered and stopped when he saw everyone's expressions. He went to stand beside Bunnymund, frowning slightly.

“What's the problem?” he asked.

It was his first Aurora-call, his first real, 100% official Guardian mission. It would have been important even if everyone's faces hadn't been as grave as they were. He subconsciously stepped closer to Bunnymund, just a little, and waited for a reply.

“H'awouahoua,” North said, his voice like granite. Jack frowned.

“Hawa- _what_ now?”

“The H'awouahoua,” Toothiana repeated, as if that made it more understandable. She was hugging herself with her arms, eyebrows drawn tightly together. “We haven't encountered one for... for a long time.”

Bunnymund clenched his fist, Jack could feel it against his own hand, and he looked up at the Pooka's face. There was anger there, and frustration and... guilt?

“We have one hour to prepare,” North said. “Then we reconvene outside Timokten, and work from there.”

Everyone started moving, leaving Jack to be even more puzzled. He hurried after Bunnymund.

“Bunny, what's going on?” he asked. Bunnymund remained silent, tapping the ground and opening a tunnel. “Bunny!”

Bunnymund once again ignored him and leapt down the hole, and one upon a time Jack might not have been able to follow. He easily kept the tunnel open, well-versed in the art by now, and slipped down after the Pooka.

By the time Jack found him, he was slipping on, of all thing, a pair of leather pauldrons. Ok, they _looked_ good, Jack could appreciate that, but the meaning beneath them was nothing but worrying. He gulped.

“Bunny, are you going to talk to me now?” he asked, folding his arms. Bunnymund paused in tightening a strap and half-turned.

“What?” He was curt, using the tone Jack knew he only carried when he was full of pent-up negativity. Years ago, he knew it would have been because of him. Now...

Now he moved forward and touched Bunnymund's arm, rubbing his thumb against taut muscle. “I don't know what's going on,” he said.

Bunnymund looked at him, taking several, short, deep breaths, then sighed. “Course you don't know,” he muttered. Jack rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I wasn’t a Guardian for 300 years, remember?” He folded his arms. “Everything I know about what you guys have been doing since… since _whenever_ is because you told me. So tell me what I don’t know about this.”

Bunnymund rubbed the back of his neck. “Right, so… might need to sit down for this. We’ve got an hour.”

“That long a story?” Jack tried to joke. It fell flat, and Jack kicked himself internally. This was decidedly not the time for jokes.

“Right, so… Hawahoowhatsit?” he said, once they were sitting at Bunnymund’s kitchen table. Bunnymund snorted.

“H'awouahoua. It’s… like Pitch. Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

Bunnymund steepled his fingers and took a deep breath. “Has the habit of eating kids instead of just scaring the shit out of them.”

Jack shuddered. “That’s… things like that _exist_?”

Bunnymund’s chuckle in response to that was nothing if not dry and humourless. “Oh, yes. Did you think being a Guardian was just chasing off nightmares and bringing prezzies? No, there’s a reason we have to know how to fight.”

Jack stared at the table. Somehow, he didn’t know whether it was because of naivete or simple foolishness, he’d convinced himself that it wasn’t so much creatures they were fighting, but the amorphous concept of fear and darkness. The idea that they weren’t just fighting what made children frightened, but what preyed on them as food was… well, _frightening_.

“Ok,” he mumbled. “So… you’ve fought it before?”

Bunnymund nodded sombrely. “Yes, I've fought it before.”

There was something there, deep in Bunnymund's voice, that said a lot more than his words ever could. The way his words sounded like lead, the way his jaw set and his ears turned back, like they did when he was angry... whatever it was, it had cut him deep.

He waited for an explanation, but none came. It was merely Bunnymund, retreated inside his own mind to relive something Jack wasn't privy to, and Jack himself, looking at shuttered eyes and imagining the storm going on behind them.

“Bunny...” He reached a hand across the table and placed it on Bunnymund's paw. “Did something... happen?”

Bunnymund looked up. Jack waited, but no answer came. He merely slid his paw from underneath Jack's hand, in silence.

It wouldn't have taken someone who knew Jack to tell that something cracked inside.

Jack stood, forcing down tears, and left.

.

It took a while and all the help of the Wind to find Timokten. The small Algerian town was quiet in the gathering twilight, the shadows going from sunset-long to muted. He found North, Toothiana and Sandy on a hilltop to the east, and he landed not far from them. One glance at Toothiana, her scimitars on an ornate belt around her waist, vambraces around her slim wrists, and North, who'd forgone his _papaha_ and huge coat in favour of a bare head and a buttoned jacket that came only to his knees.

“Wow, I feel underdressed,” Jack said. Toothiana gave him a worried look.

“Are you sure you're ok, dressed just like that?” she asked. Jack frowned.

“Is this thing really that bad?”

The other three exchanged a look. Jack winced.

“I don't... I don't have anything else,” he said, feeling stupid and young and inexperienced and useless.

“I was expecting Bunny to give you something,” North admitted. “I if had known he would not be, I would have been getting you something myself. Where _is_ Bunny?” He looked around, frowning. They all looked at him.

“Hey, don't look at me,” he said, perhaps a little waspishly. “Not my fault he's acting like some brooding anti-hero.”

Toothiana and Sandy both grimaced. North looked away. Jack's grip on his staff tightened.

“Goddammit, why won't anyone _tell me anything_?” he snapped, running a hand through his hair and slamming his staff into the sand in frustration. Ice spikes, small but sharp, spread from the area of impact, and Jack was surprised to realise he was breathing heavily. Toothiana's feathers fluffed up warningly.

“Listen, Jack...” North easily stepped over the spikes and placed his arm around Jack's shoulders. It would have been patronising if it hadn't been North. “Bunny, he... there was accident, last time we fought this creature. He blames himself for it.”

“Nothing could have changed what happened,” Toothiana added, drifting to Jack's other side. “But Bunny... it wasn't his fault. He thinks it was.”

“But what happened?” Jack asked desperately. It was Sandy's turn to answer. There was a glimmer of dreamsand, and above Sandy's head, in stylised detail, the story played out: the outline of a creature and the silhouette of a child, the Guardians themselves, and the child being devoured... Jack had to look away. There was a heavy silence.

“It escaped,” North said, his voice low and grave. “And we could not find it. Its hunger has finally driven it back out, and we must kill it, this time. For Bunny, it is personal.”

Toothiana looked around. “Speaking of Bunny, where is he? He should be here by now.”

Jack felt a rush of horror as soon as Toothiana uttered those words, as if he'd just been doused with water so icy he froze to his very core. Even Bunnymund would have his moments of reckless idiocy, no one was wise all the time...

He wrenched free of North's arm and took to the air, fast enough that he left a cloud of dust in his wake, choking his friends.

“Jack, come back!” North bellowed after him, but Jack had already gone.

.

Bunnymund waited, ears swivelling, nose twitching, by the mouth of his tunnel. All was quiet except for the far sounds of dinner and praying. He leapt up, took a deep breath and readied his boomerangs.

The H'awouahoua was vicious and stealthy, but Bunnymund had fought it before. As soon as darkness began to settle, it would venture forth, hungering, stalking, ready to tear into a child's room and snatch them away. Bunnymund could smell the terror on the town, it was so thick, mixed with confusion. How long had this been going on until the desert houri had gotten word to them? Bunnymund's grip on his weapons tightened. Every time they faced this thing, nothing turned out right.

He shook his head. That was not hopeful at all.

He began moving towards the town, which was readying itself for slumber, pausing every few moments to sniff the air. He still remembered the scent vividly from before: blood and skin and burning bone... funny how even five hundred years couldn't knock it out of his memory. He kept himself downwind, tuning out the dusty scent of the desert and the dry, oily whiff of the town, focusing on the stench in his mind.

He wouldn't be caught unaware this time.

He continued to prowl the perimeter of the town, moving away from the hills in the east, towards the plateau in the north. He could see, in the distance, the small, misshapen mountains of the Tademaït. The perfect hiding place.

The wind that suddenly rose stopped him from moving forward, and he shielded his face from the stinging sand. When the dust cleared, he saw Jack moving towards him, scowling.

“What were you _thinking_?” he demanded. Bunnymund growled.

“Stay away, Jack,” he said sternly. “You're not ready for this.”

“Make me,” Jack snapped back, planting his staff in the ground in stubborn claim of the territory, spreading frost in a circle around his feet. The staring contest lasted for what seemed like forever, until Bunnymund finally backed down. What was the point in arguing?

“You don't know what you're up against,” he muttered. Jack folded his arms with a snort.

“Yeah, why do you think _that_ is? No one's telling me anything, like I'm some _kid_. Also... you're not the only Guardian of Childhood. We're a _team_.” He stepped closer, reaching up to place his hand on Bunnymund's face. “We don't fight alone.”

Bunnymund tried to ignore him. The burn of past failure was strong, but Jack's presence was stronger. He turned and nuzzled into Jack's palm, lifting his own paw and pressing it to Jack's hand. Jack smiled.

“I'm sorry,” Bunnymund murmured, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. “I just...”

“I know. But hey, we can work at this together. We're here for the kids, don't forget that.”

How long had he been a Guardian? And here he was, being schooled in how to do his job by the one that he'd once said was many things, but not a Guardian. His whiskers twitched.

“Right,” Jack said, getting his game face on. “Let's kick some ass.”

“Bunny!”

Jack peered around him, one eyebrow raised. Bunnymund huffed. “What?” He didn't even need to turn around to know it was the other three.

“Don't _do_ that!” Toothiana began, but Bunnymund caught Jack shaking his head from the corner of his eye.

“I've already told him off,” he said, grinning.

There was some sighing and shrugging, but in the end it was North who unsheathed his sabre first.

“We have patrol to do,” he said, and Bunnymund couldn't agree more.

.

Jack landed on the edge of a roof and surveyed the town. With its short, square buildings and wide roads, it should have been easy to see pretty much anything that walked the streets, but apart from Bunnymund and the rest of them and a couple of police cars, there was nothing to see. Houses with children battened down their hatches as soon as the soon had disappeared. It was quiet enough that even the wind in the palm fronds was deafening. Nothing else stirred.

“I think it knows we're about,” said Bunnymund, coming to stand beside him, having just appeared from a tunnel. Jack groaned.

“Does it have a set time?” he asked. Bunnymund shook his head.

“It's erratic, and it wanders. It can lay dormant and unfound for years.”

“That's... not helpful,” Jack muttered, rubbing his forehead in frustration.

“It'll show up eventually,” Bunnymund said. “We'll be ready for it.”

The night got darker. Street lamps in the city centre were lit, casting a dingy, orange glow against the dust-coloured and off-white houses. Jack sat on another roof, hunched over, dangling his legs. He'd never realised something so dangerous could be so boring.

He blinked. He straightened up and squinted.

Across the road, in a yard surrounded by a metal fence, a child had slipped out of the house wearing loose pyjamas. He couldn't have been older than four. He pattered across the stone and picked up a ball that had been left outside.

Jack quickly darted over and landed on the fence, trying to keep his eye on all his surroundings at once.

“Get back inside,” he hissed desperately, but of course, he'd never needed to bring snow to freaking Algeria, this child couldn't see him.

Jack smelt it before he saw it.

He turned, trying not to breathe because the stench of blood and burning flesh was atrocious. It stood, half in the shadows, bent, but humanoid in shape.

Then it lunged.

Jack raised his staff, but it knocked him away, leaping towards the child with a hideous snarl. The little boy screamed and dropped his ball, and Jack scrambled to his feet, aiming a shower of ice shards at the creature's back. The H'awouahoua, sprang out of the way, its long jaws snapping, it's eyes like molten lava spilling down its black cheeks. Its coat flapped behind it, pale coffee on the outside, scabby red on the inside, many patches sewn together.

Jack covered his face with his sleeve as he placed himself in front of the sobbing boy. He was trying both not to vomit and to actually _process_ the fact this... this abomination was wearing a coat of children's skins.

It let out a blood-curdling screech, claws bared, ready to fight for its prey. The door of the house opened, light spilled out, there were worried voices and a mother's cries of anguish, and the creature turned and ran.

“Fuck!” Jack leapt off the fence and after it, trying to keep up with its loping, four-legged run. It set off a car alarm, bounced off a wall and made towards the north.

It didn't make it.

A tunnel opened in the wall of a butcher's shop, and in a tangled mess of demon and grey fur, Bunnymund slammed into the van parked opposite, leaving a huge dent in the side. The H'awouahoua writhed, shrieking, and kicked the Pooka away with its powerful back legs, black and shiny like tar. It dodged the ice Jack launched towards it and landed facing them, backing away with a hiss. It eyed Jack with its impossible gaze for what seemed like forever, time was so dilated, but then Bunnymund slammed into it again, snarling like a beast, his wooden dagger in paw.

He wrestled with the H'awouahoua, rolling on the dusty street, trying to reach its neck with his dagger. The creature had its own claws around Bunnymund's neck, ruffling the fur and slowly squeezing, aiming to draw blood, snapping at his face every time he closed the distance a few inches.

With a flicker of thought and a rush of power, Jack's staff lengthened with ice to a hard, shining sharp point. He leapt. “Bunny, _move_!”

Jack saw Bunnymund hesitate, the merest second, before rolling to the side, pulling out of the monster's grip. The H'awouahoua lay, confused and exposed, and Jack plunged the ice blade into its blackened chest.

It let out an ear-splitting wail, enough that Bunnymund had to cover his ears, and grabbed at Jack's staff, desperately clawing at the ice-covered wood. With a grimace, Jack twisted, and the H'awouahoua melted into globs of fiery pitch, leaving nothing behind but the stench of burning flesh and its coat.

Jack stepped back, panting, shaking with the adrenaline and the shock. Bunnymund stared at the remains, also panting, an arm clutched around his stomach.

“You did it,” he breathed. Jack's legs gave way, but Bunnymund was there to catch him. “You're trembling like a leaf, Frostbite,” he murmured, rubbing Jack's back. Jack turned and buried his face in Bunnymund's ruff.

That was when North, Toothiana and Sandy appeared, all three looking worse for wear.

“There were two,” North said, shaking his head. “Two of the things.” He cursed, filthily, in Russian. Toothiana knelt, tears running down her dirty cheeks, and began slowly folding the coat into a small bundle, shaking her head as she did. Sandy was already carrying the other.

There was a creak, and a window opened above the butcher's shop. _“Aarnab!”_ cried out a little, happy voice, and they all looked up. Bunnymund raised a hand to wave, but gasped.

“You're hurt,” Jack mumbled, lightly touching Bunnymund's stomach. His hand came back wet with blood.

“I'll live,” he said grimly. “Let's just... let's get out of here.”

.

They buried the coats in the town cemetery, two small mounds pointing the way East, each with a small stone at the head, as the sun rose.

.

“Feeling better now, Cottontail?”

With bandages around his middle and throat, Bunnymund did look like he'd been through the wars. Jack's own scrapes and bruises were healing well. He propped his staff against the grassy side of the burrow and sat beside the Pooka, close enough that their shoulders were brushing.

“Not really,” Bunnymund replied, sighing.

“Don't... just. We got rid of them. They're not coming back. The children are safe.” Jack turned and burrowed his face into Bunnymund's arm. “We did good.”

“Just tired, Ice Block,” Bunnymund murmured. He flexed his paw, almost experimentally. “I know I couldn't have done anything the first time we faced it. It was an accident. I just... I couldn't help but blame myself.”

“You fixed it now, Aster,” Jack said. Bunnymund shifted his arm and drew Jack against his side. Jack settled carefully, avoiding Bunnymund's wounds.

“You mean you fixed it,” Bunnymund said with a chuckle. It was the first Jack had heard in days. “You've gotten better.”

Jack grinned, cheeks turning frosty. “Thanks. But no sparring lessons yet. You're injured and I... kind of ache all over.”

Bunnymund nuzzled the top of his head, and the Warren's wind rustled through the trees.


	3. April 7th - Healing

_Healing is a matter of time, but it is sometimes also a matter of opportunity._  
\- Hippocrates

It was going to take some getting used to, this “having friends” thing.

They'd made efforts to keep closer contact with one another now, as it was their prior complacency that almost destroyed them, and they openly voiced the fact they didn't want Jack becoming lonely or overwhelmed by his duties. Becoming a Guardian, regardless of the Oath, wasn't something that happened overnight. Even Bunnymund agreed to take on some mentoring responsibilities. Jack never thought he'd see the day when _that_ happened. 

He could see it in the way Bunnymund acted around him. North was nothing if not paternal, almost stiflingly so. Toothiana at first teetered on the edge between being motherly and pursuing him romantically, until he awkwardly revealed he felt no attraction to women whatsoever – after that, it became purely maternal. Sandy, well... Sandy was _Sandy_ , he loved everybody. Bunnymund was slower to offer the hand of friendship. He conversed politely, the rolling of his eyes in response to Jack's jokes and pranks was becoming sort of fond instead of exasperated, but still... he was wary.

Jack got it. He and Bunnymund had been on rocky ground for ages, it made sense. Jack still wasn't entirely sure how to deal with Bunnymund himself, after all, they were very different, not only seasonally. So when Bunnymund extended an invitation to the Warren, Jack was more than surprised, he was downright shocked.

He managed to hide it, though, and accepted the invitation graciously, because he was not a rude heathen and he didn't want Bunnymund to think badly of him any longer.

Bunnymund met him at Burgess Lake, opened a tunnel and they headed to the Warren.

“So... what are we doing?” Jack asked. “Gonna teach me some kung fu?” He gave a show of a few terrible moves that made Bunnymund snort. It was as close to as laugh as he'd ever gotten from Bunnymund, hell, he'd take it.

“Nope.” He jerked a furry thumb to the River of Colouring. “Weeding time.”

Ok, that was _not_ what Jack had been expecting. He made as face for a moment, but then he rolled up his pant legs and his sleeves and cracked on.

He might as well not have tried to defend himself from the paint at all. Soon it was all over him, he looked like a hippie clothing shop in San Francisco. Grimacing, he turned to Bunnymund, indicating his hoodie.

“Look!”

Bunnymund wasn't faring much better, though he'd already cleared a good swathe of river from choking weeds, at least. “What's your point?” he asked innocently. “Could do with a bit of colour on you, you always look crook.”

Jack huffed and shrugged off his hoodie, throwing it far enough from the river that it wasn't in danger of getting any worse, but near enough that he could keep an eye on it. He then got back to work, slowly and methodically, tugging out the weeds one by one.

The day wore on, and he had to admit, it was pretty relaxing. Bunnymund actually _talked_ once in a while, it was... it was pretty nice.

“You do this every year?” Jack asked, tossing another thick plant onto the bank. They'd covered a lot, it must have been mid-afternoon on the surface by now. He was starting to feel a little hungry.

“Yeah. Must say, you helping is getting it done in half the time.”

“Uh-huh?” Jack said drily. Bunnymund gave him what had to have been the sneakiest grin in the world. Jack gave him an incensed look in reply. “Oh, slave labour, huh?”

He didn't stop to wonder whether it would be taken decently or not. He just stuck his hand into the paint, grabbed a fistful of pastel rainbow mud and slung it at Bunnymund's face. He had deadly aim with a snowball, but the mud was heavier than snow and he was off but about a foot. He hit Bunnymund square in the chest.

There was a moment's silence, and Jack feared he'd crossed the line.

“It's like that, is it?” Bunnymund said dangerously, and suddenly a ball of mud ht Jack right in the face.

It quickly descended into chaos, mud flying everywhere, and Jack had never heard Bunnymund laugh so much before. It was a wonderful sound, actually.

Eventually, Bunnymund's fur was plastered to him, caked with mud, Jack looked like he'd been rolling in it – because that was what happened when two people with formidable aim got into a mudball fight – and they were both on the bank, panting, but still grinning.

Jack flopped backwards with a noise halfway between a wheeze and a laugh.

“I was _not_ expecting to have fun here today, Kangaroo,” he said. Bunnymund chuckled.

“Neither was I, to be honest,” he admitted. “North said putting you to yakka would do you good, so I agreed.”

Jack raised an eyebrow at that. “So it wasn't out of the goodness of your own heart?” he asked. It came out as mock-sadness, but there was a twinge of the real thing.

“No, it wasn't,” Bunnymund stated, quite candidly, and that was... surprisingly hurtful. “But the fact I'm making you welcome whenever you want _is_.”

Jack sat up at that. It had gone from normal Bunnymund territory to completely uncharted waters in two sentences. Today was just full of surprises.

“Wow, uh. Ok. Thank you.”

Bunnymund turned, his eyebrows raised.

“I really mean that,” Jack added. Bunnymund gave him a smile, warm and pleasant, and Jack didn't really want to figure out what that little tug in his general chest area is. Not yet, too soon.

.

The next time Bunnymund invited him along, he took him to a large clearing surrounded by rocks. The moss on them was thicker than Jack had ever seen, and the clearing itself was a sandy area, clean and round. There was a long, impressively-stocked weapons rack in the corner, a bucket full of clear water, a towel, and a handful of training dummies. He whistled.

“You _are_ gonna teach me kung fu,” he said, grinning. He gave himself a spinning look at the place before turning to Bunnymund and bowing. “Master Shifu, train me to be the Dragon Warrior!”

Jack had never seen such a magnificent resting bitchface on Bunnymund before. He rolled his eyes.

“We seriously need to show you Kung Fu Panda,” he muttered. “You'll love it.”

“Riiiiiiight.”

“I take offence at that sceptical tone,” Jack stated tartly. “So... is it really kung fu?” Ok if he sounded a little eager. He liked Wuxia movies, ok? And Jackie Chan stuff. Most of his fighting moves came from watching a shit ton of those films and taking advantage of the Wind and his sheer dexterity to pull them off as best he could. It worked, most of the time. Bunnymund just snorted derisively.

“No, first... it's tai chi.”

Jack groaned. “Awwwwww, tai chi? Man, that's _boring_!”

“Don't knock it 'til you try it,” Bunnymund admonished. “Staff away, get ready.”

Instead of immediately commencing whatever passed for training in tai chi, Bunnymund took a stick and drew a circle in the sand. “There's a lot of teachings and stuff, they've elaborated a lot on it since I first created it, but I can't be bothered with that. All you need to know is this.” The circle became a yin and yang, but not like one Jack had ever seen, with a circle in its centre and the black and white converging towards it, like a whirlpool. “Stillness. That's what you're aiming for. In combat, this means you flow with your opponent. You're not an immovable object being met by an irresistible force, you're movement, you're balance, you're... like water.

“Now, do as I do.”

It was hard following Bunnymund's movements, at first, and so slow it was aggravating. Jack often stumbled in the middle of whatever motion they were going through, and then Bunnymund would, annoyingly, start again. Jack soon learnt the first three movements simply from the agony of repetition. He was always a step behind Bunnymund, a little jerky, a little huffy, but soon he found himself going along with it. His movements were less unsteady, his breathing more balanced. It was kind of relaxing, really, especially because his thoughts drifted away completely.

When Bunnymund finally stopped after Jack hadn't made a single mistake, he couldn't help but whoop, making Bunnymund laugh.

“Think you can remember all that?” he asked, smirking. Jack winced.

“Nope,” he admitted.

“Then we just keep practising.”

“For how long?” Jack asked, gulping. Bunnymund tapped him on the forehead, gently.

“For as long as it takes to sink in,” he said.

It seemed to be the norm in the Warren that time flowed differently, or maybe it was simply that Jack was distracted enough that time wasn't an issue. They went through the movements, which Jack learnt were called _taolu_ , as many times as Bunnymund felt they needed to. For once, something repetitive didn't bore him to death... quite the opposite. Now he felt he had to prove himself.

Eventually, Bunnymund rolled his shoulders and turned to him. “Feel up to sparring?” he asked, whiskers twitching in what Jack was fast learning was amusement. He grinned.

“You're on, Cottontail,” he said.

He should have known sparring with Bunnymund would have been a lesson in many varied types of humiliation. He didn't get a single punch in once before eating dust what felt like fifty times. When he rolled over, groaning, Bunnymund finally dropped the fighting stance and offered a paw.

“Up you get, Ice Block,” he said. Jack eyed the paw warily. “Like I'm gonna kick a man when he's down.”

He hauled Jack to his feet, and while Jack wasn't surprised it didn't take him any effort, he was surprised when he felt himself stumble and bump into Bunnymund's chest.

Oh no. Oh no no _no_ , no thumping heart and blushing for him, no sir.

He steadied himself. “Damn, everything aches,” he moaned, masking what could have been a moment with an attempt at pitifulness.

“You'll get used to it,” Bunnymund said cheerfully, clapping him on the shoulder warmly.

.

Training soon became a thing, as did sparring until Jack could at least defend himself half-decently. He was given a scroll to practice _taolu_ from, and he did so, diligently enough that the Burgess kids teased him for it. He accepted the mockery with good grace. Eventually, tea after training became a thing, which turned into dinner, which turned into social visits that didn't have the slightest thing to do with tai chi.

He learnt Bunnymund was adept at more things that Jack could possibly fathom. He could play the panpipes, he could sing, he could make plants grow with a thought and a little burst of his own, unique energy. He had a huge library in his burrow, which was kind of like a hobbit hole crossed with a traditional Japanese house, he was good at woodcarving and leather-working and bookbinding and clothes-making and Jack was pretty sure he had a thousand times more things to teach than any of the others because he was some sort of über-polymath of doom.

Jack had little to offer in return, he supposed, apart from a few witty anecdotes and maybe some company, but Bunnymund never made him feel like he was inferior. It was strange, Jack supposed, that he was fast becoming closer to the one Guardian he never expected he would have.

And if there was something deeper than mere admiration on Jack's part, something that had started as a spark and had needed very little to become a flame, well... could anyone blame him? Sure, Bunnymund was a grumpy old man, set in his ways, but he was also witty, and wise, and loyal and brave and handsome and...

Did he say handsome? He meant that purely _aesthetically_ , ok? Not, like, in a _weird_ way, or anything...

Ok, maybe a little.

The point was that Bunnymund was now his closest friend. Bunnymund was the one he saw the most, talked to the most, helped the most.

And Bunnymund was the one he went to when he finally got all of his memories back.

.

It had taken him a while to pluck up the courage to finally dive into his long-lost memories and learn everything about who he used to be. It had been a bumpy, hazardous road, and somehow he'd ended up in the Warren, the tooth box discarded on the table, trembling in Bunnymund's arms.

Bunnymund didn't laugh at him, or tell him to man up. He didn't scoff or scorn. He merely wrapped his arms around Jack, held him close, shushed him, gently, and let Jack wipe his tears on his fur. He didn't speak, he didn't have to. All he did was hold him, and that was more than enough. 

He also let Jack sleep in his bed, which was huge, circular, covered in lots of soft cotton sheets and extremely comfortable. Jack eventually drifted off into a dreamless sleep, emotionally exhausted, and he didn't wake up until the next morning.

When he stumbled out, groggy and still uncomfortably raw when it came to his feelings, Bunnymund appeared to be making breakfast.

“Sleep well?” he asked. He didn't even blink twice at Jack's unusual choice of wearing his hood up inside the burrow.

“I guess,” Jack mumbled, unsure of whether to take a seat or just to hover. He felt unsure of everything right now.

“Sit,” Bunnymund said, placing a plate of scrambled eggs and chives on the table. “And eat.”

“You're not eating?” Jack asked, sitting down and taking up his fork. Bunnymund shook his head.

“Already ate,” he said. “It's nearly midday.”

Jack winced. “Sorry.” He wondered where Bunnymund had slept. He also found his appetite grew with the more he ate, and soon his plate was clean.

“Don't be,” Bunnymund said, picking up the empty plate and taking it to the tub. “You needed the rest.”

He waited a bit longer, until Jack was confused as to why, and then got up. “C'mon, Frostbite, I want to show you something.”

Jack had never been in this part of the Warren before. It was far quieter than the rest of it, no birdsong, no gentle pocket-dimensional wind to rustle the tree-tops. There was a lonely yew tree, gnarled and ancient-looking, and beyond that, a sheer cliff face, draped by a curtain of thick vines dotted with tiny, white flowers. Carpeting the grass in front of it, a blanket of forget-me-nots. It was only when Bunnymund moved the curtain aside that Jack noticed there was an opening.

He followed Bunnymund in, a little curious, mostly puzzled, until they reached a hall in the rock, perfectly square and lit with warm lamps. There was another doorway at the far end, and Jack could only supposed it lead to another hall.

“Did you carve this?” Jack asked, pushing his hood back to see better.

“I did,” Bunnymund replied, and left it at that.

Jack slowly began to wander the room, looking at the walls. They were lined with portraits, hundreds of them, and the one detail they all had in common was the fact they were like Bunnymund: rabbit people. Other than that, markings and expressions and ear shapes and eyes were all different, except where family resemblances could be seen.

Some portraits, all clustered together on one wall, about where Bunnymund's eyes would reach, were larger. They drew the eye, so Jack wandered to them, studied them. Two were grey rabbits like Bunnymund, one with green eyes and a more feminine look, the other with hazel. There were others as well, but the largest was what looked like a female, white with black marking and yellow eyes, and a grin that vaguely reminded Jack of his own. He swallowed.

“Who... who are they?”

“The portraits in the room? They were the ones from my village. They were my people, Pooka.” Bunnymund placed a paw on the wall, and Jack could see the bone-deep, ancient hurt in his eyes. “There are other halls, I made hundreds of them. I had enough time to, and there were every Pooka on the planet in the database of my ship.”

Jack gasped. “You painted all of them?”

Bunnymund smiled sadly. “We were never as prolific a race as humans, and I had four billion years to kill. Sometimes I slept, other times I painted.”

Something twisted in Jack's chest, something that made him want to reach out and comfort Bunnymund, this time. Whatever had happened, he didn't deserve this. Jack couldn't think of anyone less deserving of this than Bunnymund.

“Are they... are they all gone?” he asked.

“I'm the last,” Bunnymund said. Jack could almost physically feel his heart breaking. It was almost cruel, he thought, that the last of his kind should become the Guardian of Hope.

“My point is,” Bunnymund went on, removing his paw from the wall, “that wounds heal, with enough time. Your memories... cherish them, learn from them, but don't dwell on them. Don't let them consume you. Life does go on, you just have to find a reason for it.”

Jack nodded, staring at the portraits. Perhaps it was time to make his mind up.

It was Bunnymund that made to leave first, waiting by the door for him. The light stung Jack's eyes, but with enough blinking he got used to it again.

“Bunny!”

Bunnymund turned, his expression curious. Jack swallowed, every ounce of bravery leaving him all at once.

“Can I ask... could you...” He paused, taking a deep breath. Then he stepped closer and, finding he couldn't look Bunnymund in the face, stared at the forget-me-nots instead. “Could you be my reason?” he blurted.

Bunnymund was quiet for long enough that Jack thought he'd ruined everything. Like that fateful moment in the River of Colouring all those months ago, they had once again reached a point of no return. He screwed his eyes shit tight, bracing himself for the rebuttal.

He was shocked when Bunnymund cupped his cheeks and lifted his head. He was even more surprised when Bunnymund nuzzled at his face, warm and soft and a little tickly.

“I'd like that,” he said, and Jack closed his eyes again and smiled.


	4. April 8th- High

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porn in this one, folks!

Bunnymund is shaken awake. It's three days after Easter, he's just spent the last three _weeks_ on maybe an hour of sleep every couple of days. He does _not_ want to be shaken awake, thank you. There's only one person it could be, so Bunnymund waves him away, rolls over and burrows back into his pillow.

“Bunny, wake _up_.” There's a giggle in that voice, and really, that should alert Bunnymund to the issue, shouldn't it? But he doesn't twig immediately.

“Rack off, Frostbite!” he mumbles, tugging a pillow over his head.

Jack just keeps poking him. Bunnymund has to grit his teeth and remember that yes, he does love Jack. Very. Very. Much. It doesn't work.

“What the bloody hell do you want?!” he snarls, sitting up and giving Jack his best glare, and it's a mighty one. It doesn't faze Jack in the slightest. On the contrary, the larrikin's biting his knuckle, trying to hold in laughter.

“Come and see,” he says, letting a snigger out.

“You won't let me sleep if I don't, will you?” Bunnymund says irritably.

“P-probably not.”

Bunnymund gets up, tugs on bandolier and foot wrappings and follows Jack. Hopefully whatever is going on will end soon and he can get back to sleep. He probably needs at least two more days of rest before he's fully recharged. He's puzzled when Jack leads him through tunnels and finally emerges on the surface.

“Ice Block, what the bloody hell have you... done...”

Oh no.

Jack's leaning, like the cocky little shit he is, against the impeccably polished side of North's Sleigh. He looks ridiculously pleased with himself.

“What have you done, ya hoon?” Bunnymund splutters, giving the reindeer a wide berth. They may be grazing serenely at the moment, but Bunnymund knows they can be unpredictable and those antlers are unpleasantly sharp weapons. Jack grins, ear to ear, and hops in, leaning over the side.

“I might have borrowed it,” he says, as if he's talking about a cup of sugar. Bunnymund isn't even angry, he's just... gobsmacked. He rubs a paw down his face, shakes his head.

“You nicked it, you mean,” he says accusingly.

“I'm gonna take it back!” Jack protests, hanging off the side like a monkey.

“What, in _pieces_?”

Jack just laughs at that, instead of denying it. That's not reassuring at all.

“Come on, let's take it for a spin!” he urges, taking up the reins. The reindeer are immediately alert, readying themselves for flight. Bunnymund raises his eyebrows.

“Right, yeah. I'm not getting back in that thing even if you pay me,” he says, shaking his head again. He wants no part in Jack's madness, he's too old for stuff like this... He turns and begins to walk away, but he's reeled back in by his bandolier and turned back around again. He could easily just drag Jack along behind him, but he won't.

“Don't do that,” he says, then narrows his eyes. Jack's looking suspiciously sly.

“Listen,” he begins, leaving over the side of the Sleigh again. His voice has dropped an octave, his body language turned decidedly sultry, and Bunnymund can smell the pheromones. “I've... kind of always wanted to...” He beckons Bunnymund closer. Like a fool, Bunnymund obeys.

Four billion years old, a hundred million lifetimes of wisdom, and he's still thinking with his cock. Very clever.

Jack whispers in his ear. Bunnymund pulls back.

“You want to fuck in the Sleigh?” he asks, for the world to hear. Jack hisses at him to be quiet, his cheeks turning frosty and looking more like the Jack he's familiar with. Bunnymund's about to jokingly enquire who he thinks is going to hear, the reindeer, when they all snort, as if on cue.

He eyes them. Their general air of innocence is fishy.

“There's always someone around the Sleigh when we're there,” Jack continues. “Always an eye on it. Stealing it was the next best option.”

“Right.” Bunnymund hopes he manages to convey his sense of righteous disbelief. “Not fucking in the Sleigh, Frostbite.”

He turns and Jack lets him, this time. He allows him to get three paces away, far enough to make a tunnel, before saying, “North said Easter was a glorified scavenger hunt yesterday.”

Bunnymund's eyebrows draw together. His ears go back, he grinds his teeth.

“He did, did he?”

Jack nods, trying for innocence. He fools no one.

“Start 'er up,” Bunnymund orders, hopping in.

Jack doesn't need telling twice. With a snap of the reins, the reindeer are off, across the sky. Jack steers them for a bit, until they're clear of obstacles and high enough to not seem suspicious, then he ties off the reins and leaves the reindeer to themselves. He's gotten better at this, Bunnymund muses, but he doesn't even have time to register that before Jack's in his lap, kissing him, sifting his fingers through his fur.

“You weren't joking,” Bunnymund says, blinking.

“Nope,” Jack admits, pushing Bunnymund down on the seats and kissing him again. Bunnymund huffs into it, lets his paws wander over the lean body against his, and this is certainly a distraction from his fear of flying and heights.

Jack pulls back to tug off his hoodie, placing it nearby, and with a sinful grin he starts working his way down Bunnymund's chest, a gentle rubbing that's exactly the way Bunnymund likes it. His hands slide lower, reach his abdomen, make him shudder. His own paws knead at Jack's arse, pull him closer, grind him down. The friction makes Jack's hands stutter, and they press down, just the right spot.

The cold air against his half-hard erection makes Bunnymund hiss, but Jack's finger along the base, teasing its way up, is enough to bring him back to attention. Jack wraps his hand around Bunnymund's slick cock, fingering the tip with a grin, and that makes Bunnymund dig his claws into the polished wood with a gasp. Jack's touch is never warm, but it's never cold either, and as familiar as it is, it never fails to feel oh-so good. He tilts his head back at Jack's persistent touch, begins to lose himself in the slow sensations.

Then Jack's weight is gone. It's confusing at first, and Bunnymund looks down, but then a smart tongue lick its way from base to tip and he lets out a rough groan.

“Ok,” he says, reaching down to place his paw on Jack's head. “That's good too.”

Jack chuckles and truly sets to work, swirling his tongue around the head, lapping at the slit, before taking him in, just the tip. He hums around his mouthful, sending shivers that go right through Bunnymund from his cock to his spine, and then lowers himself down as far he he can go without choking which... ok, isn't far. Jack's gag reflex is awful, but what he can't reach with his mouth, he makes up for with his hand, playing with the rest of Bunnymund's erection, circling up and down, tightening and loosening at an opposing rhythm to his bobbing head and playful tongue.

Bunnymund moves his paw from Jack's head to his shoulder, his grip tightening, his claws leaving white scratches on whiter skin. He watches, almost spellbound, as Jack goes to work on him hungrily, dark pink disappearing into thin, clever lips. Jack works with his tongue as well, pressing just below the head, pulling away to lap before going back down. His other hand sneak between Bunnymund's legs, cups his balls, which are already tightening. Bunnymund can feel it, the heady rush coming closer and closer, the swell of build-up. Jack moans around him as if this is the best thing he's ever tasted, hollows his cheeks and sucks hard, and Bunnymund arches, coming. Jack stays down through it, still sucking, swallowing as best he can even though Bunnymund's come drips down past his lips.

Jack pulls back with a pop that's wet and obscene, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. His lips are swollen, his face flush pale pink because sex is the only thing that gets colour in those cheeks, and Bunnymund's more than happy to put it there.

“Ok?” Jack asks. Bunnymund, panting gently, sits up and nuzzles at Jack's face.

“You know it,” he says, and Jack smiles.

He then pushes Bunnymund back down, slips off his own pants and crawls on top of him. His own erection, slick itself with precome, bobs as he settles, hands braced on Bunnymund's chest, and begins to gently rock. Bunnymund's paws go to Jack's thighs, rub their way up with tiny pinpricks of his claws. He thumbs Jack's nipples just to hear the boy whimper, and it's enough to get Bunnymund hard again. Not that it takes much.

When Jack feels Bunnymund's cock against his arse, he grins, wickedly, and reaches behind himself. Bunnymund blinks, but chuckles when the butt plug slips out and is casually dropped to the wood with a clunk.

“Good boy,” Bunnymund growls, knowing perfectly well that's what Jack wants to hear, and relishes in the shudder that gets him. Jack takes a hold of Bunnymund's cock and slowly sinks down, his eyes closing and his mouth dropping open around a long, keening moan.

Bunnymund's head falls back as Jack settles, his paws returning to the boy's hips, his grip tightening. He rolls his own hips, just to get a few gasps, until Jack opens his eyes and nods.

That's all the invitation Bunnymund needs.

He knows just how much Jack likes a good pounding, and is always far more than happy to give it to him. Bracing himself on the floor of the Sleigh, Bunnymund begins to thrust, a hard, steady, mercilessly rhythm as he holds Jack still. Jack tosses his head back, moans openly to the wide blue sky, the wind ruffling his hair, his cheeks and chest flush. It's the sort of vision Bunnymund never, ever wants to forget.

It's always _so good_ to be inside Jack like this, pounding into him, feel him tightening around him with every thrust, to hold Jack still and just let himself disappear inside him, in the sensations, in the mounting crescendo of pleasure. He pulls Jack down for a kiss, wraps his arms around him and Jack kisses back, moaning against his mouth.

“More,” he gasps. “Harder, Bunny...”

It doesn't require much effort for Bunnymund to comply. He speeds up, every thrust going as far as he can. He shifts his hips, just a bit, and that's enough to have Jack crying out and arching. Bunnymund grins. Perfect.

Jack always comes first like this, usually untouched, and today is no exception. Bunnymund can tell from the way he stiffens his arms, the way he clenches like a vice, the way his voice hitches, breaks, falters and rises again. The fur of his belly and chest becomes slick with come, and Jack goes limp in his arms, whimpering. Still Bunnymund keeps going, chasing the waves of Jack's orgasm until he reaches own, buried deep within the winter sprite, with a groan.

Jack sighs, burying his face in Bunnymund's ruff, slowly getting his breath back. Bunnymund feels him shiver when he softens enough to slip out, and he rubs circles on the boy's shoulder.

“How long,” he asks, “have you been planning this?”

Jack hums non-committally. “Been thinking 'bout it for a while,” he mumbles, voice hoarse. “Only decided to act on it because North said that.”

Bunnymund snorts and leaves it at that. He looks up, watches the clouds race by above, the blue the darker hue of afternoon, and he realises it's nearing sunset. He sits up, much to Jack's grumbling displeasure, and looks about. Nothing but blue as far as the eye can see. That's when it finally hits.

They've just _had sex_. In _North's Sleigh_. While _flying_.

He doesn't know whether to feel smug or guilty. On the one hand... well, they've fucked in the Sleigh, he's pretty sure North never has – not that he wants to know – but on the other hand... if North and Toothiana decided to pull a stunt like this on a moai on Easter Island, he'd be _pissed off_.

“Up you get, Frostbite,” he says. Jack snuggles deeper, tight as a koala to its mother.

“Don't wanna,” he mutters.

“Get dressed, ya larrikin,” Bunnymund says, nuzzling him away. “We got time to cuddle back at the Warren.”

Jack's drowsy grin is good enough an answer, and he gathers his clothes, pulling them on sluggishly. Bunnymund shivers, because it's starting to get cold, and looks around.

“Bloody hell did the plug go?” he asks. Jack pauses in tugging a pack of tissues from his hoodie pocket.

“Could've fallen out?” he replies, wiping down the wood diligently. Yeah, they fucked here, but they don't exactly want to advertise it. What North doesn't know can't scar him for life. Bunnymund huffs.

“I carved that,” he grumbles, looking over the side even though it's no use. It's quite a terrifying view and pulls back with a squeak. Not a good idea, that.

“I know! I liked that one,” Jack complains, balling the tissues and letting the rush of air snatch them and take them away to Moon knows where.

“I'll make another,” Bunnymund says, sitting down again and trying not to remember how _very high up_ they are. Jack unties the reins and takes them down in a field in the middle of nowhere. Bunnymund hops out, glad to be back on sweet, sweet terra firma, because without the distraction of a lap full of horny winter sprite, he definitely doesn't like flying.

“I'll take it back,” Jack says. “Then I'll come visit.” He tries for waggling eyebrows, but they look pretty ridiculous so all Bunnymund can do is laugh and nuzzle the side of his face.

He double-taps the ground as the Sleigh flies off, and muses on the afternoon. He's tired, but it's not the bone-aching weariness of the post-Easter rundown, it's the satisfying ache of good sex. He stretches and yawns, collapsing back onto his bed in his burrow.

He doesn't fall asleep, though, until Jack's crawled in beside him and snuggled under his arm.


	5. April 9th - Hurt

“You're _sure_ , then?”

Jack huffed. He was belly-down on the mat Bunnymund had spread out on the wooden decking, arms folded in front of him so he could rest his chin on them. His pants rested low on his hips and his hoodie was completely discarded, lying crumpled not far from where he lay.

“Bunny, I'm not backing out now,” he said, turning enough to look at Bunnymund and fix him with a half-glare.

“Just want to make sure,” Bunnymund said defensively. “Once it's on your skin, there's no going back.”

Jack felt a little thrill dance down his spine at that. Yes, that was the whole _point_ , wasn't it? Some sort of permanent marking, something that made him Bunnymund's, one hundred percent. He wasn't ever going to belong to anyone else, after all.

“I'm positive.” He reached out a hand and took Bunnymund's paw, squeezing gently. “I _want_ this, Aster.”

Perhaps it was the use of his given name, or the conviction in Jack's eyes and voice, but whatever it was, it made Bunnymund nod and take a deep breath.

“Lie down, now. And if it hurts, we can stop for a while. Doesn't have to be all done in one go.”

Jack nodded, settling back into the position he'd been in before.

It hadn't been a spur of the moment thing, he mused, as Bunnymund hunkered behind him, his long feet either side of Jack's hips. He'd been thinking about it for at least a year, maybe even longer. It made sense, at least to Jack, to have this. Even though Bunnymund said he was marked by scent, Jack's sense of smell wasn't keen enough to pick it up, and this way... this way he'd know himself, wouldn't he? Not that he needed reminding he was Bunnymund's, he knew it all right whether it was from the kind of limp that spoke of intense satisfaction or the bite marks and hickeys Bunnymund was incredibly liberal with. It wasn't that. It meant a tie to Bunnymund, an official bond, and... well, maybe Jack needed something like that.

“Right then, you ready?”

Jack swallowed. He nodded, setting his jaw, and braced himself.

The first bite of the chisel was painful as fuck, enough that Jack couldn't help his back muscles jumping. Immediately he felt stupid, and his face frosted slightly.

“It's ok,” Bunnymund said. “Try to keep still, though.”

Jack nodded again, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. He needed to stay calm. The second tap wasn't as bad as the first, the third not as bad as the second, and it went on from them, turning to a dull, repetitive sting. Jack had a high pain threshold anyway, and it was easy to just close his eyes, tight, and concentrate on the sound of the chisel and mallet rather than just the pain of it.

It was rhythmic, almost soothing, the gentle tap-tap-tapping of the wooden mallet against the handle of the chisel. Jack could feel the grooves being made on his skin, each little line a brief moment of fire, before the next one came along. The old burn was superseded by the new in a strange, lulling counterpoint of pain.

When Bunnymund paused, Jack raised his head. “That can't be it?”

Bunnymund chuckled. “Nah, just wiping the blood off,” he said, and a cloth with the merely suggestion of dampness was dragged down his spine. “I'm barely a fifth of the way in.”

Jack gulped. Bunnymund's paw stilled.

“We can finish it here, Frostbite,” he said. “Let it heal, and you'll be none the worse for wear.”

Jack shook his head, brow furrowing in determination. “Nope, I'm seeing this through!” he said. He clenched his fist. He _wanted_ this.

There was a moment of silence, before the cloth disappeared from Jack's back and there was the gentle clink of wood meeting wood. Jack braced himself again, and Bunnymund went back to work.

It continued, the song of the mallet and chisel, the brief, intense flashes of pain, broken only intermittently by the coolness of the cloth to wipe away the blood. Jack wondered what his back looked like, as he swam on the strange high that only pain could give. Was it really bloody? Did it look like live flesh, or was it more contained? He had no idea. He could only trust Bunnymund on this.

And he did. Whole-heartedly. There was no one else in the entire world he would have trusted with this, and he smiled at that. Bunnymund was gentler than others gave him credit for, and this was no exception. He allowed Jack respite when he thought it was the right moment, he was methodical, tender and focused. A warmth blossomed in Jack's chest, a swell of affection, and he reached backwards when Bunnymund was wiping away yet more blood, offering a hand. Bunnymund slipped his paw into the grasp, and Jack squeezed.

“Thank you,” he murmured. He felt a quick nuzzle to the side of his head before the cloth left his skin and Bunnymund returned to work.

Jack supposed that if a human were to do this, they might need more breaks. Spirits were usually more accustomed to pain, after all.

“So... where do they do this?” he asked, breaking the almost spell-like quiet. He felt a little guilty for it, when the tapping of the mallet and chisel was broken for half a second before Bunnymund answered.

“New Zealand,” he replied. “Learnt it by watching.”

“Uh-huh?” Jack was surprised. He'd expected this to be part of Bunnymund's versatile arsenal of abilities from the Pookan homeworld. But then... why would creatures with fur need tattoos? He felt kind of stupid for thinking that.

“Yeah. Thought it was an interesting skill to pick up.” He chuckled. “Who d'you think did North's tats?”

“Really?” Jack didn't feel so special now. He knew it was ridiculous to be jealous of North, of all people, but still...

“Bloody oath. After all... art on skin's no different to art on anything else. Didn't do it quite like this, though. Did his _irezumi_ style. Japanese traditional.” He paused to use the cloth again before continuing. “Took him forever, didn't take it half as quietly as you are.”

Jack grinned into his arms at that. That was a good piece of blackmail to use against his father figure, wasn't it? He tucked that piece of information away in his memory for a rainy day.

The time stretched on, dilated in a steady distillation of pain and peace. It was never peaceful enough to fall asleep, but also never painful enough to be unbearable. Bunnymund began humming, a tune Jack had never heard before, and then began singing ever-so-softly in that lilting, musical language Jack so rarely heard. Pookan was something beautiful to listen to. Combined with the slow work of Jack's markings, it was almost dreamlike and religious at the same time.

In the end, though, it finished, both the singing and the tapping of the chisel. Bunnymund wiped at Jack's back again, more thoroughly this time, all over, and held the cloth against him.

“Dammit, I wanna _see_ ,” Jack whined. Now that it was over and the peace was shattered, he was impatient, and not even the dull throbbing of fresh wounds could dull that. He'd specifically asked for marks like Bunnymund's, the ones on his arms. He squirmed, and Bunnymund gave a light smack to his behind.

“Pack it in!” he said. “Give the pigment time to settle.”

Whereas the inking taking forever hadn't been so bad, waiting for his back to stop bleeding took every single ounce of Jack's willpower. When finally, _finally_ , Bunnymund pulled the cloth away, Jack was sitting up in a flash, pulling his pants back up and tying them.

“I need to see!” he said eagerly. Bunnymund laughed.

“Sit your arse down and relax, Frostbite,” he said. “It looks good, if I do say so myself.”

“Are you trying to flatter yourself, huh?” Jack asked, leaning forward so his face was inches from Bunnymund's. The Pooka snorted.

“Don't need to,” he said, cupping Jack's face and pulling him in for a kiss. “Now, it's gonna scab a bit, and you won't be able to sleep on your back for a bit, but it should heal ok.”

Jack's grin widened. “Awesome!”

He leapt off the decking beneath a canopy of wisteria and rushed back to the burrow. There was a mirror in Bunnymund washroom, where the huge stone tub he used as a bath was, and Jack planted himself in front of it, back to the glass, and peered over his shoulder. He sucked in a breath.

It was better than he'd dreamed it would be. The lines were powerful inside the flowing outlines exactly like the markings on Bunnymund's arms, like Aboriginal artwork. It flowed with the natural shape of his body, the largest petal touching from the base of his neck to mid-back, the side petals reaching up to touch his shoulder blades. Within the larger one, a rounded diamond, and below that, two curved arrows pointing down, nearly reaching the small of his back. They were dark, almost navy blue, and... completely breath-taking, even against the violent red of swelling.

“Like 'em, then?”

Jack spotted Bunnymund in the mirror, leaning against the doorframe with a smug look. He turned in head and launched himself into Bunnymund's arms, wrapping his legs around the Pooka's slim waist.

“It's incredible!” he exclaimed, pressing an elated kiss to Bunnymund's lips. “Thank you!”

Bunnymund held him up by paws on his arse, and grinned. “No worries, Jacky boy,” he said. Leaning in for another kiss. Jack draped his arms around Bunnymund's neck and hummed into it.

.

“Look at this!”

It was the next monthly Guardians' Meeting. North was out of the room, Jack didn't know and didn't care why. Sandy was sipping eggnog and Toothiana was directing her fairies.

“Look at what?” she asked, as a few mini-Teeth swooned around her at Jack's presence.

Grinning like a maniac, he turned around and hoisted his hoodie up to show off his back. “Isn't it _awesome_?” He heard Toothiana gasp, and let his hoodie fall back down. “It took _ages_!”

“Jack, what...?” she spluttered in bewilderment. He turned around, still grinning, and Sandy gave him a high five.

Bunnymund appeared, accompanied by North, and Toothiana rounded on him.#

“What did you _do_ to him?” she hissed, pointing at Jack. Bunnymund froze, a rabbit in headlights.

“Nothing he didn't consent to, whatever it was,” he protested, paws held up on self-defense, earning a wince from North. The Guardian of Wonder never did like being reminded that yes, this was very much a _sexual_ relationship as well as romantic.

Jack huffed. “Relax, Tooth, I wanted it,” he said, coming to stand by Bunnymund's side. Toothiana folded her arms, hovering at about the right height to be a foot taller than Bunnymund, eyes still narrowed suspiciously.

“What is this about?” North asked.

“Jack's back,” Toothiana said shortly. Jack rolled his eyes.

“I got ink,” he said, feeling absurdly proud of himself. North laughed.

“Ah, what is problem, Toothy?” he said breezily. “Jack is probably seeing these...” He trailed off as he tapped his left forearm, looking smug. Toothiana scoffed.

“I really don't think that's the reason,” she said tartly. Before Jack could protest, Toothiana had spun him and raised his hoodie. There was a moment of silence. Jack could see Sandy double-up in silent laughter from the corner of his eye.

“BUNNY!” North roared.

“Hooroo, then, mates!” Bunnymund said jauntily, tapping open a tunnel and dragging Jack down with him.

The two collapsed in a pile on the mossy tunnel floor, Jack laughing heartily. In the end, Bunnymund had to join in too, simply because Jack showed no signs of stopping any time soon.

“Ya bloody galah,” he said affectionately. Jack wiped away tears of mirth and pulled Bunnymund in for a kiss. Bunnymund responded by sliding his hand up Jack's hoodie and tracing the contours of the tattoo perfectly. He'd done it enough after it had healed that even if he hadn't made it himself, he'd have known its lines from memory anyway.

“All yours, though,” Jack murmured against Bunnymund's lips.

“All mine,” Bunnymund agreed, kissing Jack again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, the method Bunnymund uses is called _tā moko_ , and is the traditional Maori method of tattooing. Aboriginal Australians don't have a history of tattooing in any form. _Irezumi_ is the traditional Japanese method, and is very secretive, but it involves pins and a small mallet. It differs from _tā moko_ in that it involves pricking the skin as opposed to carving it. Traditional Maori designs used by non-Maori people are called _kirituhi_ , as _tā moko_ are important cultural things for Maori people and represent their genealogy.
> 
> I like to think Bunnymund learnt both these methods from other spirits as a way to express yet more art, but he's only ever tattooed two people, North and Jack. North's tattoos will feel smooth whereas Jack's have grooves.


	6. April 10th - Happiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bed snuggles, aw yiss!
> 
> Now I've caught up, tomorrow is the last day. Looking forward to it!

Sometimes, Jack wonders at the night and day cycle in the Warren. How does it work? What marvel is behind it, because, ok, they're in a pocket dimension, but they're also _underground_. Is it organic, or technological? Is it magic or science? It makes his curiosity itch.

Other times, when it starts to be morning in the Warren, it's just as irritating as morning on the surface.

It's summer in Australia, which means the temperature in the Warren is slightly higher than it is in Autumn and Spring, even if only by a couple of degrees. The light hits his bare back through the round window, which Bunnymund so neglectfully forgot to close the shutters to last night. Jack briefly thinks that that might be because he was offering a pretty good distraction in the form of himself, practically naked, in Bunnymund's arms, but that would be blaming the victim. The point is, it's light. And it's annoying.

He rolls over, encounters fur, whines gently. “B'nn _yyyyyyy_...”

Bunnymund just snuffles in his sleep (it's the cutest sound ever) and wraps and arm around the winter sprite he shares his bed with. It offers protection from the sun, or what passes for sun in the Warren.

Content, for now, Jack manages to fall back asleep.

.

Jack stirs, slowly beginning to move as he wakes up.

“Stay still,” Bunnymund says. “I'm not finished.”

Jack opens his eyes, blinks groggily, then grins.

Bunnymund is sitting in a chair he dragged from the kitchen, sketchpad in his lap, his pencil flying over the page. Jack, disobedient to a fault, merely grins and props himself up on his elbow, watching Bunnymund from beneath a spectacular case of bedhead.

“Draw me like one of your French girls?” he croons, lounging back against the many, fluffy pillows, his arms stretched above his head. He arches a little, just enough to make the sheet slip lower and show off his hips. Bunnymund's paw stills. Jack smirks.

He doesn't get to sing sweet victory, though, because Bunnymund simply flips the page and starts sketching again. Jack flops, huffing.

“Really?” he asks, pouting. Bunnymund chuckles.

“Quiet, Frostbite.”

“What do you want to draw when you've got the real deal right here?” Jack gives a gentle thrust of his hips at that. Bunnymund's eyebrows rise.

“The real deal's still gonna be horny when I've finished drawing,” he says tartly. Jack's pout worsens. “Besides,” Bunnymund goes on, going back to his drawing, “you inspire me.”

Jack's face goes a little frosty at that, and Bunnymund rushes to commit that to paper as well.

.

Jack gasps, spreading his legs farther apart, whimpering against the sheets, allowing Bunnymund the best access to the hollow of his ass. Bunnymund licks a trail from balls to the small of his back, pausing to nip at his tailbone gently before going back the way he came. He parts Jack's buttocks further, rubs gently, then licks over his hole. Jack moans, his grip on the sheets tightening, anticipation making him throb, both cock and ass. He leaks against the sheets, longing to rut but not daring to, hot and needy.

Finally, finally, Bunnymund plunges his tongue in, forcing a choked cry from Jack's lips, licking inside him. He teases, making Jack tremble, thrusting in and out, the tickle of whiskers and the smoothness of the fur on his face a strangely deliciously contrast to the wet slide of his tongue inside. Jack can feel every nerve in his body thrumming with it, the heat coursing through him, only able to focus on Bunnymund and what he's doing. It's filthy, it's wrong, it's so good, and Jack pushes back, panting, moaning Bunnymund's name. He can feel his balls tightening, drawing up, his cock hard enough to ache, burning heat trapped between sheets and his stomach, leaving slick trails on his skin.

Bunnymund hums against his mouthful, knowing, by know, _exactly_ what drives Jack mad. He pulls back, laps a few times, swirling around the loosened pucker of Jack's hole before diving right back in again, and Jack can only give in.

With a broken, drawn-out moan, he comes, shuddering through his climax as Bunnymund doesn't relent. He only stops his ministrations when Jack finally whimpers, his nerves rubbed raw.

Bunnymund kisses his way across the cheeks of Jack's ass, up his back, small nips alongside his spine until he reaches Jack's neck. He nuzzles, humming, at Jack's nape, and Jack sighs happily.

“Good morning to you, too, Bunny,” he says. Bunnymund chuckles, rubbing the top of Jack's head with his chin.

.

Jack wanders in on the Tuesday after Easter to find Bunnymund lying on the ground, one arm over his eyes, limbs akimbo, snoring loudly. He chuckles.

It's always like this, every Easter, with or without help. At least North has an entire army of yetis and even the elves to help with Christmas. Easter is just Bunnymund, all on his lonesome, sometimes with help from Jack. Jack crouches down, leaning on his staff, and watches Bunnymund snore away. It's not creeping if he's wearing an affectionate smile, right?

“I'm proud of you, Cottontail,” he says quietly. He leans down to kiss Bunnymund on the nose, and straightens up.

He returns with a blanket from inside the burrow, and he tuck it around Bunnymund with a patient sigh. He then curls up beside the Pooka, nestled at his side, and lets himself drift off to sleep as well.

.

Jack lets out a choked gasp when he moves, squeezing his eyes shut against the flash of pain. He gingerly presses a hand to his side, feels the soft cotton bandages wrapped around him, and winces.

“I hope you're not thinking of moving,” Bunnymund admonishes from the doorway. The smell of vegetable broth and freshly-baked bread fills the burrow, and it makes Jack's mouth water – he may be injured, but he definitely still has his appetite. Bunnymund stalks over with the tray and places it on the side table, settling on the edge of the bed.

“I'm just...” Jack falters, trying to find the words.

“A terrible patient?” Bunnymund suggests, lifting the soup and blowing on it.

“ _Restless_ ,” Jack corrects sourly. “I hate being cooped up.” He gazes wistfully towards the window.

“I know,” Bunnymund says, and he sounds understanding. Jack supposes he is; after all, how many times must Bunnymund have been injured over the centuries? “But if you don't rest, that ain't gonna get any better.”

Jack nods with a sigh, taking the bowl he's offered very carefully, trying both not to spill any or tug at his wound. He's grateful to Bunnymund for trusting him with it.

He begins to eat, and hums at the taste. “How are you such a good cook?” he asks, though he knows the answer. It's Bunnymund's answer to every question involving his impressive skill set.

“Thousands of years of practice!” he states, and Jack laughs. It tweaks at his stitches and Bunnymund has to grab the bowl before any broth is spilt.

“Sorry,” Jack mumbles.

“Don't be,” Bunnymund replies, kissing him on the forehead.

.

Jack lies, breathless, by Bunnymund's side. Bunnymund is also slowly getting his breath back. It feels different right now, Jack thinks. It's no different, objectively, they've had sex enough times before, but this... perhaps it's the silver cuff at the top of his ear. He touches it delicately and grins broadly.

That's when Bunnymund rolls over and tugs Jack closer, nuzzling at his neck. Jack presses him closer, tangling their legs together, and he reaches up a hand to trace the similar cuff on Bunnymund's own ear. The only difference is, apart from size, obviously, is that Bunnymund's is engraved with a snowflake, and Jack's with an aster.

He never would have dreamt, a century ago on the Easter Sunday of 1968, that he'd one day be married to _E. Aster Bunnymund_. The thought stirs something inside him, a warm glow that spreads from his chest to every fibre of his very being, seeping into his soul. He could cry.

“What're you thinking?” Bunnymund asks, now rubbing circles in the small of Jack's back with a padded finger. Jack buries his face into the fur of Bunnymund's face, smiling into it. The burrow smells of their lovemaking, his body still throbs from Bunnymund's presence. He's never felt more in love.

“That I'm happy,” he says, and it sounds like something so much grander than it actually is. He's had a lot more happiness in the last fifty years than he'd had in three hundred before. He knows happiness is fleeting, but that this, what they have, is a certainty.

“So am I,” Bunnymund replies, raising his head to pull Jack into a kiss.


	7. April 11th - Free Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, this is finished! Only a short chapter today because I'm feeling lazy as fuck and didn't have any real ideas. It's just a little bit of introspection. I'll probably write a follow-up one day.

It had been long enough, hadn't it? Fifty years of courtship – or relationship, or whatever – it was long enough, wasn't it? By Pooka standards, he was about forty years late, by human standards even more, but what did spirit standards have to say about the matter? He'd never attending a spirit wedding or even known any spirits that had gotten married, so... it was a moot point. He literally had no one to ask.

Wait. That wasn't true. However, the idea of intentionally wandering into Pitch's lair and having a chinwag with the only recently reformed Bogeyman wasn't exactly Bunnymund's idea of a good time, regardless of the subject. North and Toothiana had never been married, and Sandy... Sandy was often confusing in his ideas. That left Emily Jane, who wasn't much use when it came to matters like this, answering either enigmatically or not at all.

It felt right, though. He was entirely sure, now, that he was going to be with Jack for as long as the future was foreseeable, perhaps even longer. They were already practically joined at the hip despite their duties, Jack's home was the Warren, his staff had the power to open tunnels directly into its heart, and... well, they were married in every way but officially.

Would Jack even find it necessary, though? And was it? Was it necessary to stand in front of a gathering of their friends, say a few words of devotion and clasp joined hands over the ceremonial mallet and ring the bell? They'd proved over and over, through thick and thin that they were together, devoted and what they had could withstand pretty much anything thrown at it. Was pomp and circumstance needed to make it true?

Bunnymund wanted it, though. Scent markings and tattoos were one thing, getting Jack to wear his ear cuff was quite another. It was an image that made Bunnymund's chest tight with longing. It was something he'd never dreamt he'd have, a true bonded mate, and the thought that Jack would consent to it... It was the sort of thought that made Bunnymund smile at odd intervals, like when there was a meeting or at the breakfast table. Odd moments when he'd looked at Jack and imagine silver at the tip of his ear, and feeling himself falling a little deeper, something he never would have considered possible.

His resolve was all over the place when it came to this. One day he'd be on hundred percent sure that was what he wanted, and he'd steel himself to ask Jack. Then the next he'd feel incredibly stupid for even entertaining the thought. He wondered where his stubbornness had gone, when it came to this.

Eventually, though, he came to a decision. In two days' time, it was their anniversary. Bunnymund would get down on one knee like humans did and ask Jack to marry him, that was the gesture couldn't be misconstrued – Pooka traditions weren't human traditions. He hadn't seen Jack for more than a few hours for nigh on three months – it had been a strangely cold winter, for the general climate of pretty much everywhere – and... It was time. He would do it. If Jack said no, it didn't matter, it wouldn't change anything. But if he said yes...

.

This had to be a dream. It had to be entirely in his mind, or it was some hallucination. Jack couldn't believe it. Was he even really seeing this? Was Bunnymund really kneeling in front of him, one of Jack's hands clasped between Bunnymund's paws, waiting for an answer to a question Jack had often daydreamed about?

He'd have been lying if he'd said he hadn't thought of it, though he'd never entertained it as a real thing. Bunnymund had never seemed like the marrying type. Once or twice Jack had considered popping the question himself, but only fleetingly. They were committed enough to not need some farcical nuptial ceremony to make it real. And, well... it was hard to apply what Jack considered a wedding to what they were. They worked fine as it was.

Way, way back, when Jack had been alive, marriage had been a terrifying prospect. There was only one real option, after all, and Jack wasn't interested in it. The other option, which couldn't even really be considered, was... well, hiding. Fear. Shadows and concealment and the risk of persecution, only because Jack would refuse to lie to himself. The pressure was to take a wife and father a brood, and with it would come the lies and the hypocrisy and the emotional pain. It wasn't worth it. And then, for three hundred years, Jack had supposed that no one would ever want to marry him. Invisibility and apparent immortality meant no humans would ever want him or could ever have him, and the spirit population's general dislike of him meant that no one would want him there, either. Resigning himself to a solitary existence had been the only thing to do.

Imagine his surprise when he realised he was in love with, of all people, the Easter Bunny. And that, through years of understanding and arguing and banter and chases and building something together that no one could break down, that would lead to this moment, here, on a goddamn hill in South Australia, where E. Aster Bunnymund, the other half of his heart, was on one knee and proposing... it was beyond belief.

He pressed a hand to his mouth and nodded weakly. It was worth it to see Bunnymund face light up like that, to be gathered into the Pooka's arms and spun happily around. The kisses and the laughter and the sheer joy of the moment, all because he agreed to Bunnymund's request. Bunnymund pressed their foreheads together, his paws cupping Jack's cheeks, his smile wide.

“This is...”

Jack nodded, his hands pressed to Bunnymund's paws. “I know,” he said, his chest fit to burst with the elation of it.

“I love you,” Bunnymund said, both fierce and tender at the same time. Jack beamed back at him.

“I love you too.”

That earned him another kiss, and another, and another, until they melted into one long, perfect kiss under the starlight.


End file.
